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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868024">The Missing Aviator</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitShifter/pseuds/BitShifter'>BitShifter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (1960s British TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2006-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2006-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:34:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,422</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitShifter/pseuds/BitShifter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steed bags the big one. Emma saves a Fox.</p><p>The seventh of a series of adventures designed to bridge between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <b>"The Missing Aviator"</b></p>
  <p> An Avengers Fanfiction </p>
  <p> <i>The seventh of a series of adventures designed to bridge between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel). After checking the dialog in episode 5.26, "The Forget-Me-Knot", I thought that perhaps this story, and the ones that follow, could exist within canon. Nothing is as it seems...</i> </p>
  <p> <b>Disclaimer:</b> Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed </p>
  <p> <b>September 1964</b> </p>
  <p> <i>Steed bags the big one. Emma saves a Fox.</i> </p>
  <p></p>
</div><p>An incessant beeping filled the cockpit of the fighter jet. The pilot had watched dispassionately as the row of red lights spread across the instrument panel like a creeping plague. Now there was no fuel left. The flight plan had called for him to make a series of aerial refueling hookups to reach an airbase on the Falkland Islands; but evasive action against the Russian interceptors from Havana had caused him to miss his checkpoint long ago. </p><p>He had been skimming over the treetops of the forest canopy for thirty minutes now, below any possibility of radar contact. Most pilots wouldn't have possessed the skill to keep a plane down on the deck for so long in unfamiliar territory, but this was no ordinary pilot. His hand barely moved on the control stick as he guided the aircraft effortlessly across the changing terrain. </p><p>The pilot would have to decide to either land the plane or eject within the next sixty seconds. After that, the decision would be made for him; the jet would auger into the ground like the twenty-ton projectile that it was. </p><p>As the last few seconds ticked by, the fearless aviator pulled out a gold pocket watch from a compartment on his flight suit. He flipped it open, and read the inscription. </p><p><i>From Emma, with love.</i> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>"One of our agents is missing. A pilot." </p><p>Charles motioned Steed into his office, indicating the chair opposite him. </p><p>"I used to be in the RAF," Steed offered. "Perhaps I knew him." </p><p>"Hot-shot test pilot name Peter Peel.  He was a Squadron Leader.  Probably traveled in different circles than you." </p><p>Steed didn't recognize the name. "Where was he last seen?" </p><p>"He had stolen a prototype Russian jet fighter, NATO codename 'Foxbat', from an air base in Cuba.  His mission was to refuel inflight to deliver it to our experts at a secret base in the Falklands.  The Reds gave chase, and we believe an air-to-air missile may have been fired.  Our last contact with him was over the Amazon. No word yet as to the disposition of the plane, or whether Peel ejected successfully.  The density of the rain forest is hampering our search-and-rescue efforts.  That, plus the fact that Peel was flying below radar altitude, and he could be anywhere in a four hundred square mile area—that is, assuming he managed to land the plane or survive a low-altitude ejection." </p><p>"Sounds like a standard job for the Royal Marines," Steed commented. "Why does the Ministry need to send anyone down there?" </p><p>"There's a spanner in the works," Charles explained. "It turns out he's married, and his wife has traveled to South America to look for him. She's quite a spitfire." </p><p>"What explanation did Peel give his wife before he left?" </p><p>"He told her he's jaunting across the globe in a single-engine plane for a couple of days, an adventurous lark.  She probably expects to find <i>The Spirit Of St. Louis</i> parked in a glade somewhere, not a one-mile swath cut by a supersonic interceptor." </p><p>"Have you sent an agent to keep on top of her?" Steed asked. </p><p>"<i>Agents</i>. Several. Thing is, his wife keeps making problems for the people we've sent.  So much so, we're seriously thinking of getting her to work for the Ministry in some capacity. But of course, if she finds out her husband worked here, it might bollix the whole deal, particularly if it turns out he's dead.  It's vitally important that she <i>never</i> find out that her husband was working for us." </p><p>"Hasn't she started to suspect, with all of the agents following her?" </p><p>Charles shook his head. "Her Majesty's government has offered a generous reward for finding Squadron Leader Peel. The wife thinks they're just bounty hunters." </p><p>"Is she really that good?" </p><p>"We can't seem to keep a tail on her," Charles said. "She even left one of our agents in Rio tied up in his underwear atop Sugarloaf Mountain." </p><p>Steed grinned. "She sounds fairly spry for the wife of an RAF Squadron Leader." </p><p>"He married younger. She's in her mid-twenties." </p><p>"Is she attractive?" </p><p>"She is immaculate." </p><p>"Why send me?" Steed asked. "What am I supposed to do?" </p><p>"Women seem to fall prey to your manner, heaven knows what they see in you." Charles shook his head.  "We thought that a bit of charm and trickery might work where field expertise had failed.  We need you to put the clamps on this Peel woman, bring her back to London, and for heaven's sake, make sure she doesn't find out <i>anything</i> about her husband." </p><p>"I'll need someone who speaks Portuguese." </p><p>"We can send a translator to assist you." </p><p>"Miss Fox speaks fluent Portuguese," Steed suggested. </p><p>"Miss Fox is a librarian. Why do you insist on dragging her around with you?" </p><p>"She has saved my life on occasion." </p><p>"Your lack of competence which puts you in need of saving is hardly a recommendation," Charles answered tersely. "But you can take her—<i>if she agrees.</i>" </p><p>Steed wondered at the odd wording of that last sentence. He grabbed his bowler and umbrella and headed towards the door. Before leaving, he tossed a final question at the Head of Operations. </p><p>"Do you think Squadron Leader Peel is still alive?" </p><p>"Just between you and me?" Charles arched an eyebrow. "There isn't a chance." </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Rita Fox was seated on the couch in Steed's apartment, her right leg dangling over the side. She had stopped by on her way home from the Ministry Library, so she was still dressed in a plaid flannel skirt and white blouse. A delicate green ribbon was tied around her neck, and her red-auburn hair was perfectly held in place by two enamel cloisonné hair clips. Steed was standing by the sideboard, mixing himself a drink. </p><p>"I know that you've wanted to restrict your activities to the library," he said candidly. "And I realize books aren't the first thing that come to mind when you hear the word 'Amazon'. But there <i>is</i> a lost agent, and possibly a frantic wife. Your help as a translator and researcher would be valuable." </p><p>"Is it okay with the Head of Operations?" she asked. </p><p>"He gave his blessing, as long as you agree." </p><p>"Since this is a search-and-rescue mission, I can hardly object," Rita smiled. "It doesn't sound like I'll be in harm's way. Anything special I'll need?" </p><p>"It's the Southern Hemisphere.  Water drains anti-clockwise, that sort of thing.  Best to be prepared. BOAC flight to Rio, leaving Heathrow tomorrow morning. You could sleep over here, if you'd rather," Steed offered with a grin. Rita stood up and walked over to where he was standing. </p><p>"I'll see you tomorrow morning," she said, giving him a tender kiss. "I have lots of things to pack." </p><p>Rita walked back to her Mini in silence. She actually had nothing to pack. Everything she owned had been packed already, in preparation for her move to Swansea. </p><p>She knew it had been arranged by Charles, the Head of Operations, to drive a wedge between her and Steed. Both Charles and One-Ten had made it clear that they wanted Steed working with someone else. They had watched during the past three months as Steed had grown closer and closer to her. When he dropped everything to rush to Madrid to "rescue" her from Simon Templar, that had confirmed their suspicions. Even though she hadn't become intimate with Steed until six weeks ago, the Ministry probably assumed that their relationship had been physical from the very beginning. </p><p>And now they dangled this fellowship in front of her, at the tender age of twenty-eight. She would be set for life. The Research Chair at the University of Wales in Swansea. </p><p>And there was something else waiting for her in Swansea: Dr. Herbert Fredrickson. The shy and awkward research chemist had a crush on her ever since he had seen her in the scandalous bikini at Brighton. Last week, when she had taken the train to Wales for an interview with the University Provost, Freddie had been there to meet her at the station with flowers. Freddie was attractive, intelligent, interesting—and safe. And thanks to Steed, she had so much she could teach him about the ways of love. </p><p>At least her final outing with Steed would be a milk run. Other than insect bites, there should be no threats. Cathy had made an important point to her in Essex. It had become clear that the only way to have a relationship with Steed was to work with him on a regular basis. His life revolved so much around his work, around the excitement and danger of each operation. It was a life that Rita knew she could never embrace. And it wouldn't be fair to ask Steed to give it up. </p><p>When Steed had opened himself up to her, he had revealed so much passion—and vulnerability. She wondered if their relationship would have ever happened at all without the drugs and hypnotic suggestions that Gallion had employed to get her to seduce Steed. Regardless of what had brought them together, her life was so much better for knowing John Steed. </p><p>So how in the world could she tell him that she had decided to leave him? </p><p>One thing was certain, Rita thought fondly. She would always remember the Summer of '64. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 2</b>
</p><p>An auburn-haired woman blocked the dirt trail through the Amazon one hundred miles from Lago Tefé and Manaus. Her arms were crossed, her feet were apart, her expression was defiant. Opposite her, two Land Rovers were being fired up by several men in jungle camouflage. As the woman confronted them, her tone was filled more with disgust than fear. </p><p>"What kind of men are you? Abandoning me here is a death sentence. At least give me a rifle." </p><p>"So you can shoot us?" Guerriega asked. "Not likely." </p><p>"You can leave the magazine a mile up the road," she said reasonably. "By the time I get it, you'll be well out of range. At least it will give me a fighting chance." </p><p>"So sorry, <i>senhora</i>. But you will have to face the jungle alone." He leveled his handgun at the woman just in case she might attempt a physical confrontation. Guerriega addressed the man nearest him. "Check her pack," he instructed. </p><p>The man quickly rooted through its contents. "There's no gun in it," he announced. </p><p>Emma Peel silently cursed herself for not being prepared for this all along. Instead of sticking with native guides, she had chosen these men because they were clearly professionals, equipped with the latest and most expensive gear. But when a sudden bump on the road had broken loose the tarp covering the cargo in the second Land Rover, she saw how they came to be so well-financed. It was filled with a dozen crates bearing official NATO insignia. They were arms smugglers. </p><p>"Perhaps you will find your husband, your <i>marido</i>, after all," Guerriega teased cruelly. "Then maybe he can fly you out." </p><p>Emma couldn't hide the hurt and anger in her eyes as the Land Rovers roared off in a cloud of dust, leaving her stranded in the middle of the Amazon, a hundred miles from civilization, clutching only a canvas backpack. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>The day after Steed and Miss Fox landed in Rio, they found themselves flying north to Manaus in the heart of the Amazon Basin.  Rita's discreet inquiries at local law enforcement agencies, aided by her Ministry papers and flawless Portuguese, had unearthed the trail of Peter Peel's wife. </p><p>They had now rented a jeep and traveled to the edge of the rain forest to the place where Mrs. Emma Peel had last been spotted. Steed pulled to a stop in a gravel parking lot in front of a run-down stone edifice that bore a sign announcing HOTEL. Rita turned to face him as she fanned herself with one hand against the afternoon heat. </p><p>"What's our plan of action?" she asked. </p><p>"We're going to join forces with Mrs. Peel at the first opportunity," Steed announced. </p><p>Rita looked puzzled. "Is that what the Head of Operations wants us to do?" </p><p>"My strictest orders were that Mrs. Peel not find out about her husband working for the Ministry," he explained. "The best way I know to do that is to be present when she finds him, to make sure Squadron Leader Peel understands the need for a good cover story, and to back him up if he needs it. Ergo, we need to maneuver into a position where we can accompany her on her search." </p><p>Rita nodded. "Assuming, of course, that Peel is still alive to <i>be</i> found." </p><p>"Either way, the sooner we get close to Mrs. Peel, the more control we have over the situation." He offered his hand to Rita as he helped her out of the jeep. </p><p>The "lobby" of the hotel was an open-air courtyard, and the front desk was an awning-covered counter that looked more like a lemonade stand.  The manageress was a black-haired woman with darkly tanned skin. Rita greeted her in Portuguese, but when the woman recognized them as foreigners, <i>gringos</i>, she answered in English. </p><p>"Good afternoon. What can I do for you?" </p><p>"We're looking for a woman," Rita began. "She's here in search of her <i>marido</i>, an aviator. Her name is Peel." </p><p>"Ah, <i>Senhora Peel</i>. She went out at six this morning, about eight hours ago. We expected her back by now. Each day she has been venturing out in a different direction, three hours out, three hours back." </p><p>Steed looked at Rita. "Three hours on these trails is maybe a hundred miles. Perhaps they've had mechanical problems." </p><p>"The men she went with were very professional," the manageress added. "And she leaves early every day, to allow plenty of time to make it back before dark." </p><p>Steed nodded. "We'll be joining Mrs. Peel in her search," he declared. "We'd like a couple of rooms ourselves." </p><p>"Certainly, <i>Senhor</i>." She turned to a pegboard filled with keys as Steed signed the register. </p><p>"<i>Obrigado</i>", Rita said with a smile, taking the keys from the manageress. She walked back to the jeep with Steed. </p><p>"Separate rooms?" she asked with a grin. </p><p>Steed smiled back. "We wouldn't want the natives to talk. Particularly the ones in Whitehall." </p><p>Rita briefly considered telling him that the Ministry brass had already guessed about their relationship.  But that would only lead to him wanting to spend the night together, and she was having a hard enough time with her decision without subjecting herself to the intense attraction of Steed's lovemaking. </p><p>Steed hoisted a heavy duffel bag from the rear of the jeep, along with a large case. He escorted Rita to her room first. The bed was little more than a cot, but the mosquito netting looked like it could stop a charging rhino. Steed set his case on her bed. </p><p>"It's unbelievably hot," Rita observed. She turned on an electric fan. </p><p>Steed grinned. "Just be glad we came at the end of winter." </p><p>Rita looked puzzled for a second, then nodded. Southern hemisphere. She watched with interest as Steed opened the case to reveal a large hunting rifle, a British 303 with a scope. </p><p>"I thought you never carry a gun?" she teased. </p><p>"This isn't a gun, it's a rifle," Steed answered matter-of-factly. "It's to be used on enemies of the four-legged variety." He tenderly placed his hand on her arm.  "There's maybe six hours of light left. I'm going to head out for three hours, then return. If Mrs. Peel gets back before then, try to engage her in conversation." </p><p>"Maybe I should go with you," Rita suggested. </p><p>Steed shook his head. "Under no circumstances should you attempt to follow me. In particular, I want you staying away from things with teeth, fangs, and claws." </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>The two Land Rovers pulled into a small encampment some ten miles up the road from where Emma Peel had been stranded. A man approached the smugglers; he was dressed similarly, in green jungle camouflage. The deferential attitude of the surrounding rebel soldiers indicated that he was their commander. He shook Guerriega's hand. </p><p>"How did you manage to get here?" the rebel leader asked. "Could you have been followed?" </p><p>Guerriega shook his head. "We had the perfect cover," he answered. "An expedition. Some wife looking for her husband." He casually guzzled water from his canteen. </p><p>"Where is she now?" </p><p>"In the jungle." </p><p>"<i>You left her?</i> When she gets back and tells the authorities, they'll be all over you." </p><p>Guerriega smiled malevolently. "There's no way back from where she is now. No vehicle, a hundred miles from civilization, place crawling with jungle cats. She's as good as dead." </p><p>The rebel leader was unconvinced. "Won't she be missed?" </p><p>"She came alone; we checked," Guerriega said nonchalantly. "The authorities will just assume our whole expedition got swallowed up by the Amazon. Happens all the time." </p><p>The rebel leader nodded in agreement. "Very well. It sounds as if you have taken adequate precautions. Let's see the weapons." </p><p>One of Guerriega's men pried open a nearby crate. </p><p>"M16 assault rifles," Guerriega began. "NATO issue. Lightweight, five-fifty-six caliber, fires the M193 round. Air-cooled, gas-operated, rotating bolt, magazine feed." He smiled as he lifted one up to his shoulder. </p><p>"No well-armed revolutionary should be without one," he quipped. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Emma took stock of her situation. Her first priority was to prepare for jungle survival. She would be eaten alive by insects in the khaki shorts and safari jacket she now wore, once darkness fell. Searching through the backpack, she fished out a form-fitting black bodysuit. She had packed it in case the expedition had been forced to spend the night. </p><p>Although black wasn't the best color for the afternoon sun, it would come in handy for camouflage later, especially if she had to sleep in the trees. The fabric was a very lightweight and breathable knit, but still thick enough to keep out the mosquitoes, tarantulas, and giant wasps. She immediately stripped off every garment she wore, right in the middle of the dirt path, and donned the outfit. It covered her entire body except her feet, hands, and head. She put her boots back on and started trudging along the path back in the direction of the hotel. </p><p>Even if she could make fifty miles a day, it would still take her two days to make it back. Unfortunately, most of the predators she would face could climb, so there really was no safe haven. </p><p>After several hours, she came to a broad clearing. The trail cut through a wide-open space for the next two miles. She disliked leaving the safety of the trees, but to cling to the jungle's edge would add several extra miles to her trek. If she attempted a straight-line crossing at a brisk walk, she might only be exposed for twenty minutes. She decided to risk it. </p><p>She was almost across when she detected a movement in the grass some hundred yards distant. It was a large jungle cat.  Jaguar or panther, at this distance it wouldn't matter; even if she could beat it to the trees, it could climb after her in a heartbeat. But she would have a better chance of eluding it in the trees than she would in the open. </p><p>Emma frowned with dismay as she realized it was downwind. It surely had her scent now.  She sprang into action. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Steed was using the rented jeep to retrace the route that Peel's wife was taking. His plan was to pretend to be having engine trouble and ask to join her expedition. That is, assuming they weren't already having engine trouble themselves. </p><p>His senses were on full alert, scanning the jungle to either side of the trail.  He expected to find some stranded vehicles, perhaps a small camp. Every few miles the trail erupted into vast clearings that were sometimes a mile or more across, usually where a band of logging had taken place. He had just come to the edge of one of these clearings when something caught his eye. </p><p>A woman was running for the trees less than fifty yards away.  A black panther was chasing her.  The woman was moving unbelievably fast, in spite of wearing boots. With her sleek hair and black bodysuit, it was difficult to discern which was the woman and which the panther.  They moved identically, with grace, precision, and extreme speed. </p><p>The 303 was in his hands before he could think, and Steed hopped out of the jeep and ran to the edge of the tree line. It would be close. The distance separating the two was narrowing, and at the speed they were running, he might be as likely to hit the woman as the beast. </p><p>Steed maneuvered himself so that there were only a few degrees of angle between his position and the chase path.  He raised the rifle to his shoulder and flipped off the safety. </p><p>The panther was heading directly into his scope when he fired. The big cat went down and rolled to a stop only ten yards away, just as the woman reached the trees. She flinched and fell before she could scamper up any branches; the shot must've passed so near to her she could feel the breeze of the bullet's passing. </p><p>When she got to her feet, she was huffing like a bellows. Every ounce of adrenaline that her body could produce was probably pumping through her veins at that instant.  Steed marveled at her fantastic run, marveled that she hadn't passed out from oxygen deprivation. </p><p>He looked deeply into the woman's eyes.  For a moment, he could still see the panic of a fleeing animal in them.  Then it was gone, and she had totally regained her composure, and shortly, her breath. When she spoke, it was calmly, almost with a touch of annoyance. She was clearly not a person accustomed to being saved. </p><p>"Who the devil are you?" </p><p>"John Steed. Big game hunter." </p><p>She cocked an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be in Africa?" </p><p>A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "The moisture here's good for my complexion." </p><p>"See here, John—" Emma began, still fighting the urge to pant. </p><p>"Call me Steed," he answered, flashing a brilliant smile. </p><p>Emma seemed taken aback for a moment, as if the weight of his charm was a palpable force.  She hesitated and swallowed once before speaking. </p><p>"Look, Steed," she began again.  "You could have killed me with a shot like that. I had almost made it to the trees." </p><p>"You <i>are</i> quite the runner," Steed agreed. "But the smile might have been on the face of the panther." He decided that he liked the sound of her voice; it was low and sultry. </p><p>Emma looked deep into his eyes. They were cool and gray, but twinkled with hidden humor. </p><p>"Do you have a car?" she asked perfunctorily. </p><p>Steed gestured to the jeep as he carefully looked her over from head to toe. She wore a tight knit bodysuit that revealed every curve of her athletic body. She was muscled where it was good to be muscled, soft where it was good to be soft. </p><p>"Fetching outfit," Steed remarked.  "I had a friend who wore one like that, only leather." </p><p>Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "I have one in leather as well, for my motorcycle."   She suddenly felt naked and exposed before him, and she reflexively crossed her arms across her chest. "I hadn't intended to wear this, although there are worse colors than black for camouflage," she declared. </p><p>"Indeed.  For a second, I almost mistook you for the panther." </p><p>"Lucky for me you didn't.  You're quite a shot with that thing." </p><p>"And your name would be—?" </p><p>"Peel.  Emma Peel." </p><p>"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Peel." </p><p>"So what are you doing in the middle of the Amazon rain forest?" she asked. </p><p>Steed smiled. "Just on holiday." </p><p>"In a humid, sub-tropical basin filled with deadly snakes and jungle cats?" </p><p>"I have a lousy travel agent."  He slung the rifle over his shoulder. "How did you come to be here?" </p><p>Emma looked at him appraisingly. "Perhaps I have the same travel agent." </p><p>Steed merely nodded. </p><p>"Let's go back to my hotel, have some food and drink," he said. "I have a friend waiting back there." </p><p>"Who is he?" </p><p>"She. She's my assistant." </p><p>Mrs. Peel took her seat next to him in the jeep, grabbed his canteen without asking, and delicately drank down half its contents. She resolutely turned to face him. </p><p>"I want to thank you, Mr. Steed, for aiding me." </p><p>"Just Steed. I know how difficult that must have been for you." </p><p>"I was only alone in the jungle for six hours." </p><p>"No; I meant thanking me, just then," he said with a wry grin. "I can tell it's not something you're used to." </p><p>Anger flared behind her eyes, until she realized that Steed was teasing her. "I pride myself on my self-sufficiency," she confessed, letting a smile play across her winsome features. </p><p>"Don't we all?" Steed smiled back.  "Doesn't mean we can't welcome help whenever it rears its ugly head." </p><p>"Your head isn't ugly, Mr. Steed." </p><p>"Just Steed." </p><p>She touched his arm. He felt as if it had received an electric shock. </p><p>"Thank you, Steed." </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>If Emma Peel was surprised that Steed was staying at the same hotel that she was, she gave no indication of it. She returned to her room and changed back into khaki shorts and a black sleeveless top. Then she sought out the room number that Steed had given her. The door was already open; Emma knocked on the frame to announce her presence. Steed was seated on the bed next to an intelligent-looking woman. The woman was dressed casually in red shorts and a white top, and her brilliant swirl of red-auburn hair was held in place by two decorative clips. </p><p>Steed rose to his feet to greet Emma. He indicated his companion with an expansive wave of his hand. </p><p>"Mrs. Peel, this is my assistant and translator, Miss Fox." </p><p>Rita smiled. "Hello, Mrs. Peel." </p><p>Emma nodded. "Miss Fox." </p><p>"I'm so sorry about your husband," Rita began. </p><p>"How do you know about my husband?" Emma fired back accusingly. </p><p>There was a moment of awkward hesitation. </p><p>"Of course, it's been in all the papers," Steed said with feigned innocence, interrupting Rita with a withering glare. "Traveling around the world in a single-engine plane, wasn't he?" </p><p>"You get papers out here in the Amazon rain forest?" Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. </p><p>Steed smiled brilliantly.  "My delivery boy has a strong arm." </p><p>Rita quickly tried to change the subject. "What happened to your expedition?" she asked. </p><p>Emma turned red. "They apparently had a more pressing engagement. A delivery for some militant rebels." </p><p>Steed raised his eyebrows. "They're gun-runners?" His interest was piqued. Emma noticed, and nodded in return. </p><p>"There was an entire shipment of NATO weapons loaded in the two Land Rovers," she confirmed. </p><p>"And they abandoned you in the jungle, miles from civilization." Steed's eyes flashed. </p><p>"Dead customers tell no tales," Emma remarked. </p><p>Rita ventured a delicate touch on Emma's arm. "Maybe it's best if you hold off on the search, at least until the smugglers and rebels clear the area," she suggested. </p><p>Emma shook her head fiercely. "Not until I've found my husband." She unconsciously clenched and unclenched her fists. </p><p>"Peter is alive," she continued angrily, "and I'm going to prove it." </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 3</b>
</p><p>Rita Fox was conversing in Portuguese with the manageress. A few yards away, Steed was carefully stowing some items under the rear seat of the jeep. He had just slung the 303 rifle over his shoulder when Emma Peel showed up, looking freshly scrubbed and radiant in her khaki shorts and navy sleeveless top. </p><p>"Thank you for offering to drive me in your jeep, Mr. Steed." </p><p>"Just Steed," he answered with a smile. "I'm hoping to add some excitement to my holiday." </p><p>"If I find Peter, you'll get all the excitement you can handle." Emma turned to greet Rita as she approached. "Good morning, Miss Fox." </p><p>Rita smiled. "Good morning. You can call me Rita, Mrs. Peel." </p><p>"And you can call me Emma." Emma sat down in the rear seat of the jeep; Rita took the seat in front next to Steed. He had somehow obtained a highly detailed government map of the area, which he studied carefully. Then he folded the map and started up the jeep. Emma hung on to the roll bar as the vehicle lurched down the gravel driveway. </p><p>"We'll need to fill up on <i>gasolina</i>," Steed remarked. He pulled up to a small pump at a run-down garage just down from the hotel. No one was in sight, so Rita hopped out of the car and pulled the rope on a corroded bell mounted on a pole. </p><p>An old man in grease-covered overalls came out to serve them. Rita rattled off a string of Portuguese to him, and he started to crank the antiquated pump to fill up the tank. </p><p>Emma turned to Steed and lifted an eyebrow. "She speaks the lingo," she grinned. </p><p>"Not bad for a <i>gringo</i>," Steed rhymed. He spoke to Rita. "I think we should continue back along the trail that Mrs. Peel was following yesterday." </p><p>"If we do," Emma reminded them, "we'll probably come upon the gun-runners." </p><p>"Good," Steed said. "I'd like to meet the men that could do this to a lady." He coolly checked the rifle next to him to make sure a round was chambered. "Perhaps have a little talk with them," he added evenly. </p><p>"Don't you want to know which side they're on?" Rita asked. </p><p>"They left Mrs. Peel to die. No matter which side they're on, it's the wrong one." </p><p>Ordinarily, Emma would have been put off by a man showing such protectiveness. But she couldn't help but feel warmed by Steed's fierce tone and obvious anger. </p><p>Steed pulled away from the garage and headed back onto the trail he had explored yesterday.  For the first time since she had arrived in Brazil, Emma found herself enjoying her search. She had taken an immediate liking to her new companions. </p><p>They made excellent time. In just a little over two hours, they were at the spot where Mrs. Peel had been abandoned. Her clothes were still lying in the middle of the trail where she had shed them. </p><p>"This is where they left me," Emma remarked. Steed stopped the jeep so she could retrieve her safari jacket. </p><p>"How much farther do we go?" Rita asked. </p><p>Steed checked his map. "Another hour at most. As long as we still find the logging bands." </p><p>Emma looked at Steed and nodded. "You're thinking the same way I am. If Peter had to land his plane, those cleared-out stretches would be perfect." </p><p>A half-hour later, the jeep was flying down the dirt trail, deeper and deeper into the rain forest. The number of open clearings where logging had taken place was starting to diminish. They would have to turn back soon. </p><p>Suddenly, the world turned upside down. Emma heard a deafening explosion as she clutched at the roll bar. Thick smoke obscured her vision wherever she looked. As the jeep crashed back to earth, the smoke was blown aside by the outrush of air. </p><p>Emma looked into the front seat where Steed and Rita had been. It was empty. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>The rebel leader lifted his head when he heard the explosion. He turned to the gun-runner standing next to him. </p><p>"Did you hear that?" </p><p>Guerriega nodded. "It sounds like we have visitors." </p><p>"Could just be a <i>pantera</i> that stumbled onto the tripwire." </p><p>The gun-runner shrugged. "I'll take my men and check it out." He made a circular motion with his fist, and his men rushed over to one of the Land Rovers and fired up the engine. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Emma Peel unwrapped her arms from the roll bar. Her first instinct had been to grab it when she felt the vehicle buck; if she hadn't clung on for dear life, she probably would have been thrown twenty feet away, battered and unconscious. As it was, she staggered groggily away from the wreckage. </p><p>It must have been a mine, probably a Claymore. Luckily, the jeep had absorbed most of the shrapnel. She cast her eyes about, searching for the bodies of her companions. Rita was lying a few feet away on the trail surface; Steed was farther away, at the bottom of a steep ravine. Neither one was moving. </p><p>The contents from beneath the rear seat were spilled across the roadway. Emma spied a familiar olive drab metal box with a red cross on it. She quickly dragged it clear of the jeep, just in case the gas tank still contained explosive vapors, and pulled it over to where Rita lay motionless. </p><p>Steed must have been the one to see to it that a military first aid kit was in the jeep. His foresight would probably save Rita's life, even if it didn't save his own. </p><p>Emma had become convinced that Steed must work for the British government. At first she thought he might have something to do with Peter; but now she was certain that he was on the trail of the gun-runners. It was just luck that he had encountered and saved her the day before. </p><p>The wound on Rita's leg was substantial. The metal had sliced through her thigh, and may have even nicked the femoral artery.  Perhaps Miss Fox would wind up needing a graft, but for now, the best that Emma could do was stop the bleeding and sew up the wound. At least it would keep her alive for another day or two. </p><p>Rummaging through the medikit's contents, Emma found a morphine syrette. She removed the plastic cap, exposed the needle, and jabbed it into Rita's arm, squeezing out all the contents. Rita shifted fitfully, but remained lying on her back. </p><p>Emma carefully removed Rita's torn and blood-soaked shorts. She surpressed a grin as she saw the impractical red satin panties that Miss Fox wore. Right next to the wound was a pre-existing scar. The dumbbell shape indicated that it might have been a snakebite. </p><p>The medikit included a variety of tourniquets. She chose the most appropriate and applied it to Rita's thigh right above the wound. After cleaning the site with antiseptic and using tweezers to pluck out three pieces of metal resembling buckshot, she delicately started suturing the wound closed. </p><p>Rita was tossing her head in agitation, but soon the morphine kicked in, and she settled down. A smile appeared on her face as she felt Emma's hands on her thigh. </p><p>"That's it, Steed," she said dreamily. "You know where I like it." </p><p>Emma arched her eyebrows.  Must be the ramblings of delirium. But it had almost sounded erotic. </p><p>"Leaving you is the hardest thing I'll ever do," Rita continued. </p><p>"You're not leaving anyone yet, Rita," Emma said evenly. "Just stay with me." </p><p>Then Rita started on about a "school of whales," or some such nonsense, and Emma reassured herself that the remarks were just random babblings.  She swabbed the site once more with antiseptic, then wrapped a generous amount of gauze around Rita's thigh. Last but not least, she fished through the kit and found a syrette of penicillin, injecting it into Rita's other arm. Then she continued down the road to try to help the man who had saved her life less than twenty-four hours earlier. </p><p>Steed was at the bottom of a steep ravine. There was no easy way down and back up again in this spot. She would have to weave some lianas into a rope and lower herself and the medikit down into the narrow space. </p><p>She heard a rustling noise from the vegetation at the bottom of the slope. Emma looked on in alarm as she saw an anaconda stealthily approaching Steed's body. </p><p>"Steed!" she cried in warning. He remained motionless. The only weapon she carried was a medium-sized hunting knife; with an expert toss, she threw it down into the ravine. From this distance there was very little hope of hitting the snake, but the knife did land in the soft mud with its handle sticking up less than two feet away from Steed's hand. </p><p>"Steed, wake up!" Emma shouted with an edge of panic in her voice. "Get the knife!" </p><p>It was just then she heard the diesel engine of an approaching Land Rover. Of course; the arms smugglers had heard the explosion and were coming to investigate. Guerriega's voice rang out across the rain forest. </p><p>"Stand still! Don't move!" </p><p>Several men in jungle gear had automatic weapons trained on her. Emma ventured a quick sideways kick with her foot to send the medikit over the edge and down into the ravine; it tumbled down the slope towards Steed. She hoped he stayed alive long enough to use it. </p><p>Guerriega hopped out of the Land Rover. He came over to stand opposite the woman he had left for dead in the jungle. </p><p>"So you found help after all, Mrs. Peel." He leaned over and collected Steed's 303 from where it had fallen next to the jeep. "We were wrong to abandon you before." </p><p>Emma narrowed her eyes, surprised at this sudden attack of morality from the evil Guerriega. "And why is that?" </p><p>"Our customers have many needs." He looked down at the quiescent body of Rita Fox in her red satin panties. "You <i>moças</i> will fill the need very nicely as <i>rameiras</i>." Emma didn't need Rita's translation to understand his meaning. </p><p>"There's a man down there," Emma said defiantly. "He needs help." </p><p>"The jungle will give him all the help he needs. The man has no value to us." </p><p>"He needs first aid!" </p><p>"No, <i>senhora.</i> He now belongs to <i>os mortos</i>." </p><p>Emma went into a frenzy as all four men grabbed at her. One of them gave her a sucker-punch to the abdomen, knocking the breath out of her. She was weak and helpless as they dragged her away. She shot a final parting glance at Steed's lifeless body at the bottom of the ravine. </p><p><i>A pity</i>, she thought. <i>I rather liked him.</i> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Rita had been propped up across from Emma in the cargo area of the Land Rover. Their hands were handcuffed behind their backs. The vehicle traveled only a mile or two until it reached an encampment. There, Emma counted another five men, to make a total of nine. </p><p>Guerriega was a big man, and he slung Rita over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he carried her to a low rock on one edge of the camp. Emma was forced to follow, prodded forward by a sharp stick that was poked into her back at regular intervals. </p><p>Emma was seated on the low rock. Rita was still lolling about, groggy from the narcotic. When she saw Emma, she scooted over and cuddled next to her, laying her head on Emma's shoulder. </p><p>"Mrs. Peel," she said lazily. "I feel good." </p><p>"I gave you a drug, Rita. It should wear off shortly." </p><p>"Too bad. This is better than the stuff Penbrough and Gallion used." </p><p>Emma didn't recognize the names. Rita's red-auburn head was dipping lower, sliding downward in fascination. </p><p>"You have perfect breasts, Emma," she said languidly. "Mine are too small." </p><p>"Er—yes," Emma answered awkwardly. "I put stitches in your leg. How does it feel?" </p><p>Rita looked down at her thigh, not showing any concern that she had been stripped down to her panties. "Feels great. Where did you get the drugs?" </p><p>"A military medical kit. Steed must have packed it." </p><p>"The Amazon is filled with untapped medical cures," Rita declared incongruously. "It wouldn't surprise me if one day half of our drugs come from plants discovered here." </p><p>"Yes, I'm sure you're right, Rita," Emma answered. </p><p>"Wait—now I remember where I've heard your name before." Rita lifted her head off of Emma's shoulder and looked into her eyes. "You're <i>the</i> Emma Peel, the one who writes in <i>The Lancet</i> and the QJM?" </p><p>"I've written a few articles," Emma answered modestly. </p><p>"I hope you're as good a doctor as Steed," Rita mused. "He saved me from that snakebite. Good ol' Steed," she sighed. There was a wistful look in her eyes. </p><p>Emma wasn't sure she should tell Rita about Steed's dire predicament, at least until she knew how she would take it. This meant finding out how close they were. </p><p>"You seem quite attached to Steed," Emma observed. "How long have you been assisting him?" </p><p>"Only a few months now." Rita's senses seemed to be returning. "I knew the woman he worked with before." </p><p>"Has Steed always worked with a woman?" </p><p>"I don't really know. I suppose not; he's generally secretive about the past. And the future, come to think of it." Rita was now sitting up under her own power. </p><p>"And the British government sent you both down here to investigate these gun runners?" </p><p>Rita stopped for a moment. </p><p>"How do you know he works for the government?" </p><p>"I know the type. I imagine MI6 assigned him to find the whereabouts of these stolen assault rifles." </p><p>Rita took the opportunity to jump on this rather than reveal the real purpose of Steed's visit to South America. </p><p>"Yes, something like that; though I know he's not in MI6," she confessed. "I'm not really clear on what he does for the government, or why. He doesn't work for them directly, you know. I suspect they pay him, in some way." She looked at Emma. "With the raw adrenaline of adventure, perhaps?" </p><p>Emma found that this idea excited her. "He's freelance?" </p><p>"More like a troubleshooter. There's one thing I can say about hanging around with John Steed: it's never boring." Rita scooted back over to put her head on Emma's shoulder again. </p><p>"It sounds as if you admire him," Emma prompted. </p><p>"He's different from all the other men I've known. It's not just because I trust him with my life," Rita said, staring blankly at the steaming expanse of rain forest in the distance for a second. "It's because he trusts me with his," she finished. </p><p>"It sounds like you two have a great partnership." </p><p>"Yes.  But it will have to end soon." </p><p>"Oh?" </p><p>"I can't keep doing what he needs me to do. I'm weighing him down." </p><p>"Shouldn't that be Steed's decision?" </p><p>"He would never admit that I'm inadequate; he cares too much. I know that he's been continuing to let me work with him against the wishes of... people in charge." </p><p>"So you weren't assigned to work with him?" Emma prodded. </p><p>"Just one time, back in May." She sighed at the memory. "But Steed has this silver tongue, this way of talking you into doing the things that you didn't plan on doing..." </p><p>"He's tricked you into doing things against your will?" Emma interrupted. </p><p>"Many times," Rita nodded. </p><p>"And you're happy about this?" </p><p>"They wound up being the most exciting experiences of my life." Rita smiled knowingly. "For those who are into that sort of thing." </p><p>Emma was silent for a full ten seconds. Then she nudged Rita upright and looked directly into her eyes. </p><p>"Steed may be in trouble," she said. </p><p>"I assume he was captured as well?" Rita asked. </p><p>Emma shook her head in negation. </p><p>Rita's face drained of all color. "He isn't..." </p><p>"He still seemed alive when we left him," Emma answered. "But he didn't look good." She decided to tell her everything. </p><p>"And... there was an anaconda nearby." </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 4</b>
</p><p>Steed basked under a clear blue sky.  The silence was broken up only by the light hiss of the surf. He was looking out upon a pristine white sand beach—he recognized this place; he was in the Bahamas again, just like this past spring. </p><p>At the edge of the water he spied a beautiful woman in a skimpy yellow bikini. But the hair wasn't the flaxen blonde of Venus Smith; it was a rich dark brown. Her body was athletic, and the swimsuit bottom was just scant enough to reveal the smooth roundness of her shapely backside. </p><p>He was reclining in a lounge chair beneath a multi-colored beach umbrella.  The woman turned and approached him. He stood up to greet her as she sauntered over sinuously, like a cat. </p><p>"How's the water, Mrs. Peel?" he asked </p><p>"Please, Steed; why so formal? Call me Emma." </p><p>She walked up to stand opposite him. The bikini was wet, and it emphasized her perfect breasts. Her erect nipples indicated her arousal. </p><p>"I don't usually address a woman by her first name until I get to know her better," Steed explained debonairly. </p><p>"Then by all means, get to know me." Emma smiled and wrapped her arms lovingly around his neck. He felt himself being eased onto his back. She pressed her body close to his, and he could feel the warmth of her, from his neck all the way down to his groin.  He wanted to lay there with her forever. Suddenly, the grip on him tightened. </p><p>"No need to be so passionate, Emma," Steed smiled. "I'm not going anywhere." He brought his hand up and gently placed it on her forearm. </p><p>He saw that her arms had strange patterns on them, like tattoos. Odd that he'd never noticed that before. Her skin didn't seem smooth anymore; it had a texture to it. As she moved in close to kiss him, her eyes seemed to change to slits of yellow. Then she opened her mouth, and two white fangs gleamed back, dripping with venom. </p><p>Steed grabbed the creature by the neck just in time to intercept its strike.  The snake was wrapped around his body and between his legs in a suffocating grip. </p><p>His eyes lost their focus for a moment, then caught the glint of steel next to him. He held the snake's head in one hand as he groped for the knife. He could feel the coils tightening around his midsection. </p><p>He found the handle and pulled the blade from the soft mud. He plunged the hunting knife squarely through the center of the snake's head, between its eyes. The constriction eased up, and Steed was able to uncoil the loops that had threatened to strangle him. </p><p>He was panting heavily as he withdrew the blade and tossed the anaconda to one side. He lay on his back staring up at the green forest canopy, wishing he really had been in the Bahamas. </p><p>"Mrs. Peel? Rita?" he called weakly up to the road. There was no answer. </p><p>He contemplated the dream he had just had. There was no denying it. He was attracted to Mrs. Peel. The guilt of betraying Rita, even if only in thought, weighed heavily on his mind, and had turned the dream into a nightmare. Probably best not to over-analyze it, he thought. </p><p>Steed rolled over on his side and gazed up at the impossible distance separating him from the road. He was bleeding from more than a dozen wounds. If only he had a medical kit. </p><p>Then his eyes caught a glimpse of the military medikit that he had packed on the jeep. What an incredible stroke of luck that it found its way into the bottom of the ravine, at a time when he needed it most. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Rita spoke under her breath to her fellow prisoner. </p><p>"I'm going to lean back, Mrs. Peel. See if you can scoot over here and remove my hair clips. I have some lockpicks behind one of them," she explained. </p><p>Emma turned sideways and groped around Rita's head, nearly poking her in the eye. Presently, her hands fastened on the metal and enamel clip. </p><p>"Is this the one?" </p><p>"Yes, but best remove them both anyway. It will look suspicious if I'm only wearing one. If both are gone, they may just forget that I had my hair up, or think that one of the guards stole them." </p><p>Emma groped around and found the other clip, and Rita sat back up, her hair cascading around her shoulders. </p><p>Rita began speaking. "I believe I can—" </p><p>The guard turned suddenly to look at them, and both women smiled at him simultaneously. If he had any experience in such matters, he would have been instantly suspicious, or at least noticed the change in Rita's hairstyle; but as it was, he merely smiled back. The women waited until he turned his attention away again. </p><p>"These are an old model of handcuffs, single lock," Rita continued. "I believe they can be shimmed." She reached over as Emma passed her the clip with the lockpicks. </p><p>Rita began to work on the handcuffs behind her back. "You know, adjustable ratchet handcuffs were invented in 1862, by a man named Adams," she said conversationally. </p><p>"How on earth can you remember something like that?" Emma asked. </p><p>Rita smiled. "If it happened in the nineteenth century, I know it." She coughed loudly, presumably to hide the sound of the handcuffs coming open. </p><p>"There; that's me done," she said. "We'll have to wait for an opportunity for me to get to yours." </p><p>"Maybe I can pick it myself," Emma suggested. "Do you think you can guide me?" </p><p>Rita checked to make sure no one was watching and pressed the shim into Emma's hand. She barely turned back in time before the guard looked over. Both women smiled again. </p><p>"You'd think he'd wonder why we're so happy," Emma said out of the corner of her mouth. </p><p>Rita started instructing her in a low voice. "Slide the shim in flat, against the body of the cuff, not the swing part. You should make contact with something; that's where the ratchet meets the pawl." </p><p>"It's gone in as far as it can go," Emma replied hopefully. </p><p>"That's fine. Press down; that'll make the shim cover the next tooth on the ratchet. Now tighten the cuff slightly with the side of your hand to make the pawl ride up onto the shim." </p><p>Emma's face was a mask of concentration. "It slipped," she said. </p><p>"Keep trying," Rita said encouragingly. She coughed loudly in anticipation of Emma's success. </p><p>Mrs. Peel grinned broadly. "I got it!" She quickly passed the shim back to Rita, then put her hands back behind her back. "How did you know how to do that?" </p><p>"They make you take classes at the Ministry. As a librarian, I never thought I'd get to use them." </p><p>"But since you started hanging around with Steed...," Emma offered. </p><p>"Yes," Rita agreed. "No amount of training could be too much." </p><p>Emma once again found herself fascinated by the idea of adventuring with John Steed. Then she recalled his lifeless body laying at the bottom of the ravine, and remembered that the odds were no one would ever be adventuring with him again. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Steed was breathing heavily by the time he made it back up to the road. Looking back down, the ravine didn't seem that deep; his lightheaded state must have been due to lingering concussion effects. He sat down cross-legged on the ground to regain his balance.  It had taken him nearly an hour, but he had managed to dress most of his wounds with sutures and gauze from the medikit. The toughest part had been using the tweezers to dig out the shrapnel without the benefit of anesthetic. The crawl up to the road had taken another half hour. He wondered how long he had been unconscious. </p><p>As the noonday sun beat down through the trees, Steed noticed the glinting of the shiny steel pellets all around him. He crawled across the ground, following the trail of metal shot as he approached the site of the explosion. When Steed arrived at the source of the blast, he found exactly what he expected: an M18 Claymore antipersonnel mine. The area was ringed with tripwires connected to more mines, forming a defensive perimeter. Then he noticed the tracks from the large tires of a Land Rover heading off into the jungle. </p><p>Mrs. Peel and Miss Fox must have been taken prisoner by the arms smugglers who came to investigate the detonation. The gun-runners had either not seen him at the bottom of the ravine, or had left him for dead. </p><p>The camp wouldn't be too far from the mines; maybe a mile or two at most. If he could arrange for more of the mines to go off, he could lure men out of the camp, increasing his chances of a successful one-man assault. First, he would need some sort of weapon. He searched the forest floor, hoping to find a suitable piece of wood. </p><p>Steed finally found a straight limb nearly equal to his height. Using the hunting knife, he cleaned the stray branches from its length. He spun it rapidly between his two hands in a figure eight pattern. It made a suitable quarterstaff. </p><p>The sky had quickly clouded over, and heavy raindrops were starting to patter on the nearby leaves. Steed ranged several yards away from the wreckage until he found a tree bearing a heavy, melon-like fruit.  He plucked two large ones and carried them back to the jeep. </p><p>Once more sitting cross-legged on the ground, he sliced the melons in half and hollowed out their interiors. This left him with four sturdy cup-shaped rinds. He held one aloft and waited patiently for it to fill with rain, counting the time. It took several minutes to fill. He hefted the weight of the full rind, doing some quick mental arithmetic. </p><p>Crawling across the ground, he gathered up all the steel shot that he could find from the exploded Claymore. When he had amassed a couple of pounds worth, he emptied the rain out of all the rinds and started filling them with varying amounts of the metal pellets. </p><p>Steed picked up all the rinds and carefully stepped across the tripwire between the mines, making sure that he was on the side that didn't have the embossed warning FRONT TOWARD ENEMY. Then he delicately placed the rinds against the tripwires next to four of the mines. As long as it kept raining for the next fifteen minutes, his plan should work. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Guerriega was slurping some warm stew next to the campfire when the first mine exploded. </p><p>"More visitors?" he frowned. "This place is busier than Rio during Carnival." He immediately shot a glance over at Rita and Emma. They were still sitting docilely on the rock, under the watchful eye of one of the rebel soldiers. </p><p>The rebel leader approached the campfire. "Do you want to investigate again?" </p><p>Guerriega shook his head. "Not this time. I'm staying here to guard the weapons. Until I'm paid, I have to protect my investment. You can take my men, if you want." </p><p>The rebel leader nodded. "Very well. I'll leave my men here with you." He turned to address his soldiers.  "You four men stay here to protect the weapons," their commander ordered. "And keep an eye on the <i>moças</i>." He glanced at the women, whose soaking wet clothes were becoming more revealing by the minute. "That should be a pleasant task." </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Steed was crouching in the foliage, waiting for the soldiers to leave the camp. He did a quick count and saw that five remained. If they managed to confront him en masse, he was done for. He needed to lure the soldiers away one at a time, if possible. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pellet of leftover steel shot. Taking careful aim, he tossed it over to where Rita was held captive. She felt it strike, and turned her head to look in the direction it came from. </p><p>Steed poked his head out of the bushes and made a gesture at Rita. When the guards looked away for a second, she responded with a quick hand signal of her own, surprising Steed; he assumed that Miss Fox and Mrs. Peel would have been under lock and key. Then he noticed her red-auburn hair was down and her cloisonné clips were missing; he guessed she had probably picked the lock on whatever shackles had been used. </p><p>Emma saw the unspoken communication between them, and understood what Rita meant when she said they trusted each other with their lives. </p><p>The rain had soaked through Rita's white top, and it was plastered transparently to her pert breasts. Steed knew that she seldom wore a bra, and in this case, it was proving the perfect distraction. Her red panties were clinging wet as well; and the soldiers had focused their entire attention on her slender body. Steed found himself wishing that Mrs. Peel was similarly attired—for the additional distraction, of course. </p><p>Steed grabbed a handful of shot and threw it into the bushes fifteen feet away. One of the guards turned his head at the sound. </p><p>"Shouldn't we check that out?" </p><p>"You go," said the guard closest to the two women. "I'm staying here." </p><p>Steed smiled to himself as he saw Rita casually wiggle her shoulders and part her thighs to hold the guard's attention. </p><p>A single soldier approached Steed's position. When the man got into range, Steed leaped from the bushes and swung the quarterstaff, knocking the automatic weapon out of the man's hands. </p><p>There was a loud explosion in the distance as a second mine went off. Steed smacked the quarterstaff into the side of the soldier's head, sending him to the ground. One down, he thought. </p><p>The guard closest to the women had jumped up at the sound of the detonation. He now became concerned when he saw his companion was missing. He crept towards the bushes where Steed had concealed himself again. </p><p>A third explosion sounded in the distance. Steed sprang from hiding, once again using the staff to disarm his opponent. </p><p>The guard looked into Steed's face. "<i>El Marido!</i>" he exclaimed in surprise. He had mistaken Steed for the missing aviator. Steed effortlessly windmilled his wooden weapon as he attacked the soldier. The two women watched from across the clearing. </p><p>"What's that in Steed's hands?" Rita asked. </p><p>"I think it's a quarterstaff," Emma answered. "Who does he think he is, Little John?" </p><p>"Don't call him that," Rita said wryly. "It'll make him insecure." </p><p>Emma smiled. "He's quite good with it." She watched as Steed parried and struck with the staff. Classical fencing training, she decided.  Expert, even by her standards. Maybe he would fence with her some day, if they survived the Amazon. She noticed that Steed held the staff with one hand close to the middle, and the other closer to one end. Some people mistakenly assumed a quarterstaff should be held with hands equidistant, but the off-center grip allowed the wielder to develop more leverage in strikes from the far end, without substantially impacting strikes from the center. </p><p>The remaining soldiers had left the campfire and were running over to investigate the commotion. </p><p>"Wait for it, Rita," Emma said excitedly. "Let them think were bound and helpless until the last minute, to maximize the surprise. Actually, you shouldn't try to fight at all," she continued. "You'll just open up the wound in that leg. I'll jump in the instant Steed needs help." </p><p>Two soldiers arrived and saw Steed attacking their comrade. They raised their automatic weapons. </p><p>Rita nodded. "He needs help." </p><p>Emma stood up and wrestled the weapon out of the closest soldier's hand, taking him by surprise; she then swept her leg around low, knocking the other soldier off his feet just as he was about to fire. He fell to the ground hard and the gun flew from his grasp. </p><p>Another explosion sounded as Emma set upon the first soldier. Rita saw that she used the edge of her hand like a solid weapon, smacking it into vulnerable points on her opponent. Within seconds she had felled one of the soldiers, and she had just started on the other when Guerriega burst into the clearing. The big man ran up behind Emma and grabbed her, pinning her arms behind her back. The other guard was still reeling from her karate attack, but when he saw that Guerriega held the woman helpless, he closed in and prepared to punch her in the stomach. Rita saw that Mrs. Peel needed help. </p><p>"Steed!" Rita called out to him. He had just finished dispatching his second enemy. "Let me borrow that!" she shouted. Steed tossed her the quarterstaff from twenty feet away. </p><p>Coming up from behind Guerriega, Rita stealthily maneuvered the end of the staff between his thighs and yanked upwards with all of her strength. He immediately let go of Emma, yowling with pain as his hands clutched at his groin. Rita pulled the staff out and swung it like a club, hitting him flat across the shoulder blades. </p><p>Freed from Guerriega's constraint, Emma attacked the remaining guard opposite her in a flurry of hands and feet. Rita watched in admiration, wishing she had known how do something like that whenever she was in a tight situation with Steed. Mrs. Peel reminded her of Cathy: the precisely-aimed blows, the sure confidence that she could defeat her opponent. The other man quickly collapsed under the onslaught. Emma then turned back to face the gun-runner who had abandoned her in the jungle to die. </p><p>Guerriega's hands had been protecting his crotch ever since Rita's strike, so Emma was able to attack his head with abandon. She jabbed at his throat with rigid fingers, thrust her palm upwards into his chin, and hit the bridge of his nose with a vicious chop.  He was momentarily stunned by her blows, so when she made a move to claw at his eyes, he instinctively brought his hands up to guard his face. Emma was waiting for this shift in his defenses, unleashing a fierce kick that caught him squarely between the legs.  The gun-runner groaned with nausea and thrust his hands back below his waist to shield his vulnerable manhood, leaving his face exposed again. </p><p>Emma smiled ferally as she swung her right palm in a looping arc and connected with his cheek, following up immediately with a left. Guerriega was still reeling from the slaps as she drove her fist into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He finally lost the will to fight; he sank to the ground, grimacing in pain. </p><p>"That'll teach him not to mess with the <i>moças</i>," Emma commented wryly. She casually nudged the helpless gun-runner away with the tip of her toe, then turned to address Rita. "Thanks for the help. I know your wound has to hurt." </p><p>Rita smiled. "I don't know much about fighting," she said, awkwardly spinning the quarterstaff, "but I know what works." </p><p>Steed checked to make sure that the two soldiers he attacked wouldn't be a threat anytime soon, then sauntered over to the two women. </p><p>"Everything under control here?" </p><p>"Mrs. Peel was just demonstrating the different ways to incapacitate a man. She knows quite a few." </p><p>Steed looked down at the two unconscious soldiers, then over to Guerriega rolling on the ground with his hands clutched between his thighs, and then back up at the women. </p><p>"Remind me never to cross <i>either</i> of you." He noticed the bandage on Rita's thigh and quickly knelt down to examine it. Steed probed it with a familiarity that Emma found herself envying. He looked up at Rita's face. "How does it feel?" </p><p>"It'll hold," Rita said confidently. "Mrs. Peel stitched me up." </p><p>"Just don't hold me accountable for the artistry, or lack thereof," Emma added. "The conditions were less than optimal." </p><p>Steed stood up again and turned to Emma. "I trust I have you to thank for the knife and medikit?" </p><p>"Did they come in useful?" she asked hopefully. </p><p>Steed gave her a serious look. "They saved my life." </p><p>Emma smiled. "You're welcome." </p><p>"We'll have to hurry," he announced. "The last mine that I rigged already went off. The troops should be returning within two or three minutes. Just enough time." </p><p>"Time for what?" Rita asked. </p><p>"If the rebels want NATO to give them assault weapons, they'll have to go through legitimate channels," Steed said. "In the meantime, I'll just take care of these." </p><p>Steed starting hefting the cases and tumbling them over the hillside, down into the muddy river. The M16's sunk to the bottom, slowly settling in the quicksand-like mud. Emma and Rita joined in the activity. There was a frenzied roiling at the water's surface; the wooden crates had disturbed some fish. </p><p>Emma looked at Steed. </p><p>"Are those—?" </p><p>"Piranhas?" Steed grinned. "Yes." </p><p>"Nasty little biters." </p><p>"Should add some zest to any attempted salvage operation," Steed added with a smile. </p><p>"Still, with the proper equipment, won't they be able to raise them?" Emma asked. </p><p>"Perhaps," Steed mused. "But with all the mud and water, their merchandise will have depreciated considerably in value. Might only be useful as clubs." </p><p>Emma looked admiringly at the man next to her. </p><p>Rita had been helping roll the boxes down into the river when she suddenly sat down on the ground next to Emma and Steed. Emma noticed it first. </p><p>"Is everything all right, Rita?" she asked. </p><p>Rita rolled over on her side and passed out. Blood was soaking through the bandage on her thigh. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 5</b>
</p><p>Steed and Emma carried Rita over to the remaining Land Rover in the rebels' encampment.  Steed fired up the engine and started to pull out of camp just as the other Land Rover arrived.  He pushed the accelerator to the floor and blew by the incoming vehicle before the soldiers inside it could get a shot off. </p><p>"They'll be after us in a flash," Emma said grimly. </p><p>Steed said nothing, just hurdled the vehicle forward at its maximum speed. Within three minutes, they came to the overturned jeep. He stopped the Land Rover and scurried over to a row of undetonated Claymores. Carefully removing the tripwires, he quickly moved two of the mines out to the middle of the trail, reversed the FRONT TOWARD ENEMY side, and reconnected the wires. Emma had moved over into the driver's seat; she gunned the engine the instant that Steed jumped back in. </p><p>The other Land Rover was roaring up behind them at a juggernaut pace.  The driver saw the mines just in time. He slewed off the road, unavoidably detonating one of the mines in passing. The shrapnel blasted through the tires and gas tank, permanently disabling the vehicle. </p><p>Emma looked at Steed with a smile. "Very impressive." </p><p>He smiled back. "Hoist by their own petard." </p><p>A half-hour later, Steed delicately put his hand on Emma's arm. "Pull over and let me drive for a while," he offered. "I'd like you to check on our patient." </p><p>They shared water from Steed's canteen as they hovered over Rita in the cargo bed. </p><p>Emma had her hand pressed to Rita's forehead, checking for fever. "She's lost a lot of blood, but I think she'll be all right once we get her to Manaus," she said. "I know a doctor there." </p><p>Steed had removed the bandage and was examining the suture work with a professional eye. He replaced the wrap with a touch so delicate it might have been a lover's caress. </p><p>"You do a creditable field dressing, Mrs. Peel." </p><p>"Thank you, Mr. Steed—I mean, Steed." </p><p>He smiled. "How did you get her to hold still?" </p><p>"There was some morphine in the pack." </p><p>He appeared amused. "I'll bet she loved that." </p><p>"She was rambling incoherently." </p><p>"Anything I should know about?" Steed asked with a grin. </p><p>Emma reddened as she recalled the seemingly erotic remarks Rita had made about Steed, but knew better than to violate any confidence. </p><p>"Just something about a school of whales. Odd, that." </p><p>"What do you mean?" </p><p>"I've only known Rita a short time, but she seems to be a person who prides herself on her knowledge of—well, everything." </p><p>Steed smiled. "She can be a bit of a know-it-all." </p><p>"So surely she would know that it's a <i>pod</i> of whales, not a school." </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>Steed was alone with Rita, back at the hotel. The diagnosis from Mrs. Peel's doctor friend was heartening; Rita merely needed bed rest until her blood count returned to normal. </p><p>"How's your thigh?" Steed asked. </p><p>"Well, at least the shrapnel had the decency to mangle the one that already had the scar," Rita joked lightly. "Emma did a good job on it. Lucky I was out the whole time." </p><p>"Dreaming about the fishes, I understand. Something about a school of whales?" </p><p>Rita paled suddenly with a shocked expression. Steed realized from the look on her face that the remark had not merely been a random one made while delirious. </p><p>Rita knew there was nothing for it. She would have to tell Steed now. </p><p>"A school <i>in</i> Wales," she corrected quietly. "Steed, I need to tell you something. It's important." </p><p>"You know you can tell me anything, Rita." </p><p>"I'm going to Swansea. The Ministry has arranged for me to have the Research Chair at the University of Wales." </p><p>"The Ministry?" Steed asked suspiciously. </p><p>"It's the chance of a lifetime, something I'd been hoping for ever since my days at Oxford and Cambridge." </p><p>"Quite a coincidence that it should present itself now." </p><p>Rita didn't believe it was a coincidence either, but she didn't comment. Steed continued on blithely. </p><p>"Well, I'm sure the Bentley will be up to the task of some weekend trips." </p><p>Rita shook her head sadly. "No, Steed. The long-distance thing—well, it just won't work. You'll still be working for the Ministry, eventually with a new partner, and I'll only be in the way." </p><p>"I won't mind." Steed looked at her seriously. </p><p>"But I would." She looked deep into his eyes. </p><p>"Look, there's no need to decide anything yet." Steed gave her a wan smile. "When we get back to London, we'll talk about the future." </p><p>Rita nodded. She didn't have the courage to tell him the decision had already been made; but she could see he was hurting, and it would be best not to open the wound any further. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>The next morning, Steed was leaning against the Land Rover, watching the sunrise. Emma Peel came up behind him and companionably put her hand on his shoulder. </p><p>"You stage quite a one-man assault, Steed." </p><p>"You're pretty handy in a fight, yourself," he replied seriously. "I may have been aided by a larger-than-life reputation. They mistook me for your husband, your <i>marido</i>." </p><p>Emma sighed. "I only wish you were," she said wistfully. </p><p>"Really?" </p><p>"Yes. Then this nightmare would be over, and I could return to London." </p><p>"I saw something when I was traveling overland to the rebel camp," Steed said. "I think we should go back to investigate." </p><p>"Can you find it again?" </p><p>"I think so. Let's go out in the Rover. Rita will be fine here." </p><p>Emma noticed for the first time he had called her Rita instead of Miss Fox. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>The rain forest had been cleared for a one-mile stretch, but not from any logging activity. The ground was blackened and charred. Steed parked the Land Rover at the far end of the swath, where pieces of metal lay in a twisted heap. Emma's hands were shaking slightly as she clutched at the dashboard. </p><p>Steed took her arm as they walked down to the wreckage. A bright glint of sunlight caught their eyes near one of the larger fragments. Emma carefully picked her way over the rutted earth. Perched on top of one of the stabilizers was a piece of gold jewelry. She snatched it up with tears in her eyes. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she flipped it open and read the familiar inscription. <i>From Emma, with love</i>. </p><p>"Was that his?" Steed asked quietly. </p><p>Emma nodded. "I gave it to him." She looked down on the wreckage. Tears continued to well up in her eyes, but she choked back any sobs. "Who would do this? What harm could a small plane be?" </p><p>She nudged some of the wreckage with her toe, then knelt down when she saw letters on it. Steed recognized the markings, but said nothing. But Emma knew what they were. </p><p>"Cyrillic alphabet," she said. "This was a Soviet fighter jet." </p><p>"It must have been an accident," Steed said. "A mid-air collision between his plane and this jet." The lie didn't feel comfortable as it passed through his lips. </p><p>"I'd heard rumors that he violated Cuban airspace, and that he was being chased by jets." She held the pocket watch tightly in her fist as she fiercely fought back the tears. </p><p>Steed felt a pain unlike any he had ever experienced. He wanted to take this dark-haired beauty in his arms, hold her close to him, and tell her the truth about her husband. That Peter Peel was flying the jet, and that he might have ejected safely and still be alive. But that would reveal the fact that Peel had been working undercover for the Ministry, and there was a universal rule among those who worked undercover: one never revealed the identity of another operative, even under torture. It was a secret that one took to the grave, if necessary. The Head of Operations had made it a point to strictly forbid him from revealing it, as well. </p><p>And the odds of Squadron Leader Peel surviving a low altitude ejection were virtually nil, anyway, Steed thought. Best to let his wife have the closure she needed to get on with her life. </p><p>Then, as if in fulfillment of his fantasies, the woman turned to him and slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. Steed could smell the delicate fragrance of her hair. A wave of desire swept over him, stronger than any he could have ever imagined. It washed away the guilt he felt about lying, the guilt he felt about lusting after a woman so newly widowed. He put his hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her body. </p><p>Emma Peel looked up at him with tear-stained eyes. </p><p>"He loved to fly," she said simply. </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 6</b>
</p><p>Steed entered the office of the Head of Operations in Whitehall. He removed his bowler and placed it next to his umbrella on the desk. Charles rose from his seat to shake Steed's hand. </p><p>"Excellent work in Brazil, Steed. I knew you were the man for the job." </p><p>Steed sat down in the chair opposite. "We found the wreckage of the jet." </p><p>"Good; we'll dispatch a team right away." Charles lit a cigar. "Did you find any trace of Squadron Leader Peel?" </p><p>"Only a pocket watch." It suddenly occurred to Steed how undamaged the pocket watch had been, how it stood out in the wreckage. </p><p>Charles nodded. "Yes, Peter Peel is certainly dead. However, he has done one last service to the Ministry. He has left us an invaluable asset—his wife." </p><p>"Mrs. Peel? The widow?" </p><p>"Yes.  We've been evaluating her since she started the search for her husband.  We believe she has the talent necessary to assist the Ministry." </p><p>"Are you going to tell her that Peter was working for us?" </p><p>"No, and you must never let her find out.  Our people say there's no predicting what that knowledge would do to her. Could unbalance her to the point of rebellion. We wouldn't want that—she has one of the highest skill ratings of anyone we've ever observed." Charles puffed thoughtfully on his cigar before continuing. </p><p>"Mrs. Emma Peel could be the ultimate weapon for the Ministry," he said. "And no one will suspect she works for us, since she won't officially <i>be</i> working for us.  She'll think she's just helping her good old friend, John Steed." </p><p>Steed arched an eyebrow. "Why would she want to help me?" </p><p>"You did save her life in the Amazon.  Repeatedly." </p><p>"She saved mine, as well," Steed offered. "She probably considers our account to be even." </p><p>"Like all women, she seems to be affected by your charms, though I can't fathom why," Charles continued.  "Use this, and her, in the way you previously used Mrs. Gale.  She didn't work for the Ministry, either." </p><p>Steed found that he was starting to grow tired of the word 'use'. "What about Miss Fox?" he asked. </p><p>"As you know by now, Rita has accepted a position in Wales. It became clear to her that associating with you was simply too dangerous." </p><p>"Is that what she told you?" </p><p>Charles ignored him.  "Mrs. Peel will be the perfect partner for you. She's an Olympic fencer, a karate expert, and a skilled sharpshooter and archer.  She seems to be virtually immune to fear, and keeps her composure in difficult situations.  You will find her help invaluable with any activities you undertake. She is the partner you've been searching for." </p><p>A nasty suspicion entered Steed's mind. </p><p>"From the very beginning, you've seemed to know an awful lot about Mrs. Peel, and had very definite plans about her working for the Ministry. And this position opening up for Rita seems quite a coincidence, as well." </p><p>He looked at Charles with a grim, steady gaze. </p><p>"Is Peter Peel really dead?" </p><p>"A death certificate has been issued for Peter Peel. Emma Peel is his widow.  That will not change. That is all, Steed." </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
</div><p>The large green Bentley pulled into its customary spot in front of the apartment of Rita Fox. The small red Mini was nowhere to be seen; it must have been sent on ahead. </p><p>Steed glanced around the empty apartment. All of Rita's possessions had already been moved—even the four-poster bed that he had tucked her into the day they first met, and had enjoyed many times since. Rita stood near the window, dressed in a prim wool skirt and white blouse with satchel in hand. </p><p>"I'm off to Swansea. " She turned her head away.  "I know I haven't been everything the Ministry hoped I would be." She looked down at the floor. "And I guess I'm even more of a disappointment to you." </p><p>"Now what would make you say a thing like that?" Steed asked seriously. </p><p>"You need someone strong to work with you. Someone like Cathy. Or even Emma." </p><p>Steed flinched. <i>Was Rita part of this?</i> </p><p>"Just give me a call if you're lonely," Steed offered softly. </p><p>Rita knew he was hurting, but the break had to be clean. "I've already got a date lined up." </p><p>"In Swansea?" Confusion flashed across Steed's face, before being replaced by realization. "Wait, that research chemist you met in Brighton—you don't mean... Herbert?" </p><p>Rita smiled. "Freddie can hardly wait for me to arrive." </p><p>"You seem to know exactly what you want," Steed said evenly. </p><p>"I do. I will always remember you, John Steed." She almost had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling. </p><p>He smiled back. "I wish you nothing but happiness, Rita Fox." </p><p>She moved her mouth close to his ear, and whispered softly, "Beware of dogs." </p><p>Steed turned his head, kissed her tenderly on the cheek, and whispered back, "Beware of snakes." </p><p>They held each other for a moment. Steed reached up and lightly caressed a lock of her red-auburn hair, then his fingers delicately brushed past one of her cloisonné hair clips before settling on her cheek. She took his hand in hers and kissed his palm. </p><p>Steed brightened.  "What do you say we head back to my flat for a quick champagne before you catch your train?  One for the road, so to speak." </p><p>Rita feigned indignation. </p><p>"Mr. Steed," she chided as sternly as a governess, "you know I don't drink." </p><p>Steed gave a broad smile and linked his arm in hers. They walked together to the front door. </p><p>"Then it's time you started," he answered slyly. </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-oOo-</p>
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